


Prying.

by Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels)



Series: Petya 'verse - All Petya Vorkosigan Fics [16]
Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Alternate Universe, Illegitimacy issues, Infanticide, Running away from home, Sins of the biological fathers, Sins of the foster fathers, Time Period: Reign of Ezar Vorbarra, Time Period: Reign of Gregor Vorbarra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-28
Updated: 2010-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-13 10:40:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/pseuds/Lanna%20Michaels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You never told me about my father."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prying.

On Vervain, after Miles has beat a hasty retreat back to his mercenaries, after Petya has set ImpSec and the embassy into motion, in the lull before the storm, Gregor turns to Petya and says, "you never told me about my father."

The accusation has been building ever since Gregor found out. But Petya just looks at him, confused. "What about him?"

"The truth about him," Gregor says. "That he was a monster, no hero at all."

Petya blinks and then rubs his forehead in pained exhaustion. "Gregor, do you ever listen to a word that comes out of my mouth? Have you turned into Miles when I wasn't looking? You reached your majority years ago. For _years_ , you've had full uncensored access without your Regent looking over your shoulder. It took you this long to look for the truth?"

"I didn't look for it," Gregor says. "It found me."

"And so you ran away from home?" Petya asks him dangerously. "Because your father wasn't some war hero?"

"Because he was a monster," Gregor says. "And so was Yuri, and who's to say that I'm not? No Emperor would be better than a bad one."

"I'm to say you're not Yuri," Petya says. "And I'm to say you're not Serg. Will that suffice long enough for us to get you home, sire? Or is there some other worry you need to have denied before you stop throwing us all into a succession crisis?"

Gregor glares at him. "Don't give me that, Petya. If you really have to treat me like I'm your Emperor, treat me like I'm your Emperor. I don't insist on it, but you are allowed to shout at me as my older brother. Not as my liegeman. And you were all complicit in that cover-up," he continues. "Why should I trust you to tell me the truth now?"

Petya's jaw sets. "Does my liege lord," he asks coldly, "have reason to suspect that I have ever lied to him?"

"You did lie to me," Gregor says. "Lies of omission are still lies. In retrospect, I'm amazed. You managed to spend an entire night telling me that I'm not another Yuri without ever once mentioning my father. You knew what he was, you knew what he _did_ , and you didn't think that was worth mentioning to me?"

"I know exactly what your father did. Who he was. And if you had _ever_ , at any age, asked me a damn thing about your father, I would have told you the bare truth. You never did. What my father and Cordelia told you is not something they have shared with me. But though there probably were lies of omission, I don't think they ever told you anything blatantly false. If you'd wanted to know, you could have found out. It's not as if your father's war crimes are any secret in the Nexus."

"If I believed everything someone said about my family, I'd believe your father to have a forked tail," Gregor dismisses. "ImpSec is supposed to be there to give me truth from the lies. And Illyan was complicit in this."

"If Illyan ever censored a report to you, you could have him executed," Petya says. "He's not stupid, Gregor. You didn't ask. The Chief of ImpSec is not, to my knowledge, required to report to every new Emperor the full list of crimes and treasons of the previous Emperors. Or of their sons. If you would like to change that, you certainly have the power to do so. But as far as telling you at age four that your father was a monster... Gregor, I am damn sure that was something you knew when you were four. You may not have had the words for it, but you knew."

Gregor says after a long moment, "I knew I wasn't supposed to ask about him. I remember that."

"I wasn't privy to details, but I know your grandfather considered it a security matter, and Negri acted accordingly. Serg was not permitted to be in a room alone with your mother after you were conceived. Which is why you don't have the younger sibling history suggests was supposed to follow you when you were two."

"If the next words out of your mouth are about uterine replicators," Gregor says, "I'm going to make Ivan give me fifty marks." Which is a better way to turn this conversation than, say, for example, letting his mind dwell on that implications of _that_.

"Gambling is a dirty habit," Petya tangents. "Especially gambling with subordinate officers."

"More betting than gambling," Gregor says. "And I'm doing it with my cousin, not an officer in My service. If I don't make that distinction, I go a little out of my head trying to find people I can actually talk to. As Count Vorbarra, I should have peers, but I hold their oaths as their Emperor. And then there's my family. Your father... Cordelia... it's not... I ordered Cecil to assign Ivan to the capital. Miles would have never stood still for it, but I can... I can rely on Ivan to stay in the capital without complaining about it or plotting elaborate escape scenarios." He can't even rely on Petya to do that, Gregor thinks glumly, because Petya spends most of his home leaves in the District.

"What about Vorvolk?" Petya asks. "Allow me to pry..."

Gregor smiles faintly. "He comes to the card games. And capital gossip calls him my catamite." His smile turns sardonic. "Thank you, Father. Now I understand why that was the first thing that came to people's minds when I struck up a friendship with him."

Petya shivers. "Ges Vorrutyer," he begins softly, then shakes his head. "No, Gregor. That's really not a conversation I want to have with you this soon after you've found out what your father was and that someone taught him his trade. And, anyway," he continues contradictorily, forcing his way through ruthlessness, "your father preferred his victims to be women. Ges didn't."

"He was your uncle," Gregor says.

"He was my mother's brother," Petya says, "and I've always suspected-- and that's not a conversation I would like to have right now, either, especially not without first knowing what you already know of these issues. Honestly, Gregor, I can't believe it's taken you this long to satisfy your curiosity about your parents."

"Just my father," Gregor says. "I did... I've been getting stories about my mother since she died. But I never noticed how conspicuous my father's absence was. No one talks about him. They talk to me about Ezar, about Dorca, about Xav, even about Yuri. Not one word about Serg. Did Ezar put out an Imperial order that I don't know about, demanding that no one speak ill of the dead? The only story I've ever heard about him was that he gallantly ordered his way to the front of the invasion and then died. Gallantly."

"I'd call it idiotically, myself," Petya says. "You can, if you choose, get the full text of my father's written protest regarding Serg's actions, if you happen to start thinking along those lines and wonder if my father conspired to have yours die with the failed invasion."

"No, I'm done suspecting Vorkosigans of trying for the throne," Gregor sighs. "If you'd wanted it, I can't even count the number of times you could have stolen it without any difficulty. And a couple times when you could have done it without all that many repercussions, comparatively speaking. Your great-great... whichever ancestor backed Dorca's claim had, from what I can tell, roughly the exact same claim."

"Vorkosigans aren't fans of salic descent," Petya says. "We consider it to be something along the lines of cheating. You could give those thanks to my cousin Pierre, though, if you please; Pierre le Sanguinaire was also in that cousin line. As were, as I recall, ten other Counts. Another reason to stand behind Dorca Vorbarra's claim. He was someone they could agree on, and then in return..."

"He didn't slaughter their armies as terribly," Gregor says. "And gave them better terms when demanding their surrender."

"Dorca had a Count hanged from a tree," Petya reminds him. "Clemency meant a different thing in those days."

"And here I was, worried about _Yuri_ ," Gregor grumbles.

"It was a different time," Petya says. "I find it a useful measurement to see what the isolationist fanatics are spewing and compare it to what the ardent progressives were saying during Dorca's day."

"Xav excepted?" Gregor asks, because Petya can always been counted on to know tiny little details about ancient politics, but steadfastly refuse to publicly comment at all on his opinions of today's issues. Petya's very good at the party line. He takes the admonition against serving officers talking out of turn very seriously, Gregor has noticed. Well, seriously enough in public, and then there was the time he called Richars Vorrutyer a disgusting wine-and-urine-drenched stain on Vorrutyer honor in front of half of Vorbarr Sultana. Maybe it's just that Petya's really good at seeming like he's taking no public stands on anything controversial, while at the same time managing to do it in a way that you completely forget about by the next morning, because it's been overshadowed by something actually scandalous or disgraceful. You can get pretty far in the capital, Gregor's noticed, by being just a little less scandalous than the person next to you. And if how Petya acts in private with Gregor is any indication, then for all Gregor knows, Petya breathes fire in closed-door reminiscences with Lady Alys. On second thought, he wouldn't be surprised at all.

"Xav didn't come into real, independent political power until after Yuri took the throne," Petya says. "My grandfather used to mutter about brotherly power grabs and self-fulfilling prophecies, and he attended Yuri's coronation, made oath to him while Dorca's body lay unburied. I imagine that Yuri worried about Xav even then. But once Yuri took the throne, he probably found Xav indispensable. Xav held our treaties together by strength of will for years. He could get away with playing political games so long as he never stood openly against Yuri. But while Dorca was alive, I'm fairly certain that Xav kept a high profile galactically and a low profile domestically, playing the loyal diplomat prince role as hard as he could. Too much depended on the illusion of a united government while they were driving out the last of the Cetagandans. Only afterwards could he take public stands as the Loyal Opposition and start working towards his progressive agenda."

"He could have done it a lot more effectively if he'd taken the throne," Gregor says.

Petya frowns at him. "Do you really want to have that discussion again, sire? Xav didn't want it. I don't even know if he could have taken it, to be honest, without causing an even bloodier war over it. Married a Betan, had half-Betan children, was on very good terms with Beta Colony... the conservatives would never have allowed it. They would have raised their banners against him the moment he demanded their oaths. Xav would've had to start his reign with a mass execution of all his political enemies for treason, if he hadn't managed to kill them all already in the process of deposing Yuri. Beta, for all that they had silently backed Xav during what they insisted on calling our Cain and Abel War, as if it were the only one we'd ever had, would have been disgusted. And so would old Xav, I suspect. Although I think he might have done it anyway, if forced. He had just deposed and executed his own brother, so what're a few more bodies on top of all that? He was ruthless enough by any modern standard of your generation, sire, which only shows how far we've come from those days."

Gregor blinks. "The thought of Prince Xav being a conservative isn't something... that's a very strange thought game."

"Oh, not a modern conservative. If we consider my grandfather to be their standard-bearer, for all that he's dead... although my grandfather did eventually come around on Miles. To some extent. But it was still for good reason that he was never allowed alone with Miles, just in case he changed his mind about the usefulness of his second son's second son. I did point that out to him. At length. He shouldn't assume I would survive, especially because my father being your Regent was, in effect, putting me into worse political danger than my father and his siblings had been for daring to be descended from Xav. My uncle's only threat to Yuri was what he might have done in the future. I was an adult."

Gregor shifts uncomfortably in his chair. "And Miles..."

"Adult actions," Petya sighs. He rubs at his neck above his collar. "That was enjoyable," he says, "seeing an arrest warrant for my brother on charges of kidnapping you. I did assume it was more likely to be the other way around, Miles not being an idiot. But at least this shouldn't be a huge scandal. It was highly classified. The cover version is that he missed a mandatory reporting-in and so of course ImpSec demands that anyone who sees him brings him in. But this so soon after that damn mutiny charge--"

"We quashed it," Gregor says.

"So it's not in his official record," Petya dismisses. "That doesn't mean people won't remember it. Mutiny, treason... and now he's failed his way into ImpSec. I can't tell if this is Miles's typical luck or my father being ruthlessly nepotistic."

"Um, nepotism, but not just your father." Gregor's not sure what part of it is ruthless, though. Aral had presented the facts of the case to Gregor and recommended a transfer to ImpSec for the sake of everybody's sanity. Gregor had been more than happy to do it. Miles's original assignment had made him miss Gregor's Birthday. At least a galactic assignment would take the sting out of Miles not even requesting the social duty leave he was entitled to. "And ImpSec has enough irregulars that Miles will fit in fine. I can make sure of that. I already promised to privately fund his mercenaries for this if I can't find the funds elsewhere, and he's more than willing to try to convince me to keep them on a retainer. Illyan won't like it, but I think they could be useful."

Petya shrugs. "You're the only Vor lord allowed a private army, if you want one."

"I don't," Gregor says. "But as part of galactic covert ops, I think they could be a valuable tool, especially for intelligence gathering. A mercenary fleet can go where an official Barrayaran fleet couldn't."

"For _extremely_ good reason," Petya sighs. "Sire, please, before you let Miles keep his toys, talk to the higher-ups in the Ministry of Galactic Affairs. And maybe also the Komarran Viceroy, if Miles's pets will have to spend any time in that space. You know how the Komarrans are about mercenaries. If this gets out, it won't just have widespread consequences galactically or domestically. Komarr will be more upset than everyone else combined. A Vorkosigan playing games with mercenaries. What a nightmare."

This is familiar. The diplomats all think that Gregor shouldn't be allowed to do anything that has to do with another planet without clearing it with them first. And allowing them to veto things they don't like. It's insulting. On the other hand, Gregor thinks guiltily, all of the really disapproving ones probably remember Serg. That's one more thing to thank his father for, Gregor supposes, that his high-level galactic affairs advisors are all worried that Gregor might decide to start a war with someone just to make himself look good politically or satisfy his own ego.

"I'll speak with a few of the Ministers," Gregor promises. "And some of my lawyers, just to see if I'd be breaking any of my own laws by putting Miles in charge. There's at least one Barrayaran deserter in that fleet. It may count as me ordering Miles to harbor him." Not that Miles hasn't been already.

"Mm, yes. That's a good idea. Your breath is law, but precedent doesn't vanish on your whim. And... I would ask that you consult my father as well," Petya says delicately. "I don't mean to insinuate that you still need your Regent to hold your hand on difficult decisions--"

"But I should listen to my advisors, or else why are they my advisors? Yes, Petya. I know. I'll talk to the voices of expertise."

"Thank you, sire," Petya says. He smiles a little self-deprecatingly. "Miles had something right, about us preferring to hold power without needing to be the one brave enough to sit on the throne."

"Miles," Gregor corrects, "called your family the power behind the throne. It's not like he was wrong--"

"Factually accurate, perhaps," Petya says. "Wrong to say it, though. Oh, I'll grant him the circumstances required it. But that's a slander that should never be spoken, and, if spoken, repeated. I don't know about you, Gregor, but I've had too much civil war for my lifetime."

"So have I," Gregor says.

Petya opens his mouth, and then closes it. He looks at Gregor carefully, with a return to full anger in his eyes, and Gregor wishes the floor would rise up and swallow him.

"I was drunk," Gregor says quietly. "It seemed like... it made sense then. Less sense since."

"And you don't even have a damn heir! You-- you are a damn fool, sire."

"I wasn't thinking," Gregor says. "It was... I saw proof, tangible proof, of what my father had done. It was a shock. Didn't you ever want to run away from home? From what you were? From everything?"

"Constantly," Petya says, "although I was younger than you at the time. And then I did damn well run away from home. But I got a lawful order to do it first."

"It's not like I can go be the Emperor on Earth for a few years," Gregor says. "It's a life sentence. I don't get mandatory rotations or home leave. And it's not like I can try to abdicate without being immediately executed in some palace coup. My only way out without dying first was... I may have been a damn drunken fool, Lord Vorkosigan, but it was a perfectly logical course of action to pursue."

"You could have, at least," Petya rubs at his temples, "had the good grace to vanish off of Sergyar or Beta. Not Komarr, of all places. If this had gotten out, if there had even been a whisper, some hothead in the Fleet would have given us Solstice all over again, only a thousand times worse. If the hothead had been in the General Staff, there might not even be much of a Komarr left when we were done avenging you. Did you consider _that_ in your logical course of action?"

"I was being selfish," Gregor says. "I don't deny it. I... I merely put forward the proposition that, while my actions were not correct, they are at least defensible."

"I can't answer that," Petya says. "I really don't find treason appealing."

" _Now_ you're worried about upsetting me?" Gregor asks. "What's the rest of this conversation been, an intellectual exercise?"

"There's a difference between venting my anger," Petya says, almost detached, "and informing my Emperor that his actions were unbecoming of the Vor and a disgrace to his name."

Gregor winces.

"And so I'm not going to say anything about that," Petya continues. "Because there are some things a Vorkosigan never, ever says out loud. Because we don't stand against you. Ever. My grandfather never voted against Ezar. My father has never voted against you. We never will. Maybe by the time you deign to have children and the duties descend on to the next generation, the stain will have worn off, but I wouldn't put anything of value on that wager. We don't stand against you in public because of how it looks. And there need to be, there have to be, certain stands of behavior in private as well. Congratulations, sire. You've found them."

"If you're not going to say it, why the hell are you saying it?" Gregor asks. "Petya, you're such a... you're calling me honorless and making _me_ want to apologize to _you_ for it. I can't believe you hate Vorbarr Sultana politics. You would fit in perfectly."

"I've had practice," Petya says shortly.

"So you think I'm unworthy of my name and are angry enough at me to say it to my face," Gregor says. "All right. Do you want to throttle me as well, Lord Vorkosigan? Do you want to lock me up in an ImpSec prison so that I am never unguarded?" Or implant him with one of those spyish locator chips, for all that it would be a severe security breach because anyone with certain illegal devices and a few hours to waste on trial-and-error could dummy up a matching receiver for that locator. Or, with less time, simply jam the signals. And considering that even the most advanced modern versions are still hard enough to get _out_ of the body once they've safely deactivated, it might even count as treason by harming the Emperor. But it's best not to give Petya ideas. He might try to insist on it. And Petya has final approval over ImpSec operations out here, so not only could he insist, he has the resources to arrange it. No, Gregor thinks, he's not going to make Petya start thinking longingly of putting a security-leash on his Emperor. "I made a mistake, Petya. It seemed like a good idea at the time and I know it was stupid and I was wrong to do it and I'm sorry I did, but _no_ , I was _not_ thinking about what this would do to politics at home, or in the Nexus, I was thinking only about myself, for once in my life, thinking of myself as me and not as the full weight of my titles and responsibilities. Allow me my selfish moments."

Petya shakes his head. "Gregor, you wanted to know how I know that you're not your father. And now you're ordering me to allow you to be selfish whenever it damn well pleases you without being angry at you for doing it. I'll admit that calling you honorless was a slight to my own honor and... and I should have thought more before saying it, because it was unworthy of both of us, and I apologize for it, it was unbecoming as both your foster-brother and liegeman, as well as an unforgivable insult, but... Gregor, what _did_ you learn about your father? Was it only the invasion? Or were you aware that-- do you know what he did?"

Gregor barely breathes. "Just the invasion. What else did he do?"

"I don't--," Petya gestures violently, like he's fighting against restraints, "I don't know everything. I don't _want_ to know everything. There were things-- Illyan could give you everything Negri recorded and that _still_ wouldn't be everything. He was-- he was a damn monster, Gregor. A selfish, power-hungry monster. The nicest compliment you could bestow on him was to call him only a criminal."

"He hurt you," Gregor realizes. "How-- what did he do to you?"

Petya barks a short laugh, on the edge of hysteria. "Gregor, you ran away from home because of the crimes your father committed in a very short war. If you want details about what he did at home, demand them from Illyan. Better yet, read those damn files you should have read the day after you turned twenty. Your father's, your mother's, mine, Padma's, Ges Vorrutyer's... if you want details, sire, Illyan can hand you more details than you could ever want, enough to choke on."

Gregor wants to press the issue, wants details, but Petya looks sick around the edges, and the look in his eyes is even worse than the one he'd had when Gregor had first walked into this office. Petya is outright refusing to answer his question. Pressing it further, demanding information, would probably make Petya never trust him again to speak to him bluntly.

And if Serg had hurt Petya... well, then Gregor is going to consider this a step he takes that is completely the opposite of what his father would have done in this situation.

And if Serg had hurt Petya, then Gregor has no idea how Petya can even stand to look at him, let alone risk dying to save his life during the Pretendership. Gregor had jumped out of a building to escape his father's ghost, and his father never did anything to _him_.

After Gregor returns to the capital, after he sorts things out with Illyan, after he talks to Miles, he demands Petya's full, birth-to-date, uncensored file. He'll start there, he thinks. Illyan hands it over with what seems like pure relief. _One more person waiting for me to take responsibility for my father's actions?_ Or maybe Illyan is just reveling in the reality of Gregor in the Residence, not Gregor vanished into the Nexus with no trace.

Gregor works through the file deliberately, but not in order. He starts at what he thinks is the most important part, when Petya had been given an emergency transfer to ImpSec, all written orders filled out after the war, of course, and been handed the child Emperor and told to keep him safe, no matter what happened. And Petya had done it.

Most of what's there Gregor had already known. There are a few casualty lists, one confirmed, one speculative, and one potential. There's an official investigation into Petya's actions, but that's pure cover-up nonsense in case it were ever to be needed. It hasn't been, yet. There's documentation of Petya's official cover, there are briefing papers on what Petya should say he was doing, there's even a commendation that's never seen the light of day. Petya had gotten a medal for his actions, and had promptly been ordered to never wear it. Illyan's file notes that Aral had accepted it on his son's behalf.

There's nothing there, in short, that's unexpected. Even Petya's psych profile from the aftermath is predictable. No wonder they had let him run away from home.

And then Gregor starts from the beginning.

He doesn't know what Petya expects him to find or wants him to see; after that horrible, blunt conversation, Petya had clammed up entirely and never dropped a title or small point of protocol. He'd played the perfect diplomat the entire time. Gregor tries to tell himself that it hadn't been a huge relief, but he's always nursed a suspicion that Petya would have made a much better Emperor than he does. When Petya tells him he's been an idiot, Gregor tends to wonder if that's when Petya regrets not taking the throne for himself. Petya, after all, wouldn't have made _that_ mistake. He just would've made others, Gregor reminds himself. It's not as if Petya's service record is free of demerits.

Something in here is supposed to shock him. It can't be that Petya prefers men. Gregor thinks he would have figured that out eventually, even if Ivan hadn't let it slip accidentally. And hadn't that been a surprise, that Ivan had known it and Gregor hadn't. Gregor doesn't even know if Miles knows. Of the three of them, Ivan had known something Petya was trying to keep secret. Gregor has ImpSec at his disposal, Miles is his brother, and Ivan... Ivan had peaked at his love letters and cheated. And if this is supposed to be something scandalous, Petya's preferences hardly rate as anything shocking. Maybe for Petya's generation it is, but it's not anymore. It could still be a scandal, if some love affair blew up terribly, but in and of itself, it's nothing dangerous.

And Petya's a Count's heir. He can get away with a hell of a lot before anyone would say anything. Petya's going to have to work harder than that to shock Gregor. He's going to need more than a few love affairs to shock anyone, let alone someone who knows him. Petya just isn't a very scandalous person. The worst hobby that Petya has, from what Gregor can tell, is speaking truth to power. And even that, he does in absolute privacy and never publicly.

On the other hand, Gregor frowns, Petya's been surrounded by shocking, scandalous people. Such as Prince Serg and Ges Vorrutyer. And even, Gregor thinks, remembering half-remembered comments, Aral Vorkosigan.

And, sure enough, to his shock, very nearly the first thing Gregor discovers, almost on the heels of Petya's birth announcements, is the fact that Aral Vorkosigan killed two men in duels.

Gregor finds the conversation attached to a reference, attached to a memo, attached to what seems to be a completely routine-for-the-time request from a Vorbarra armsman to enter Xav's property, regarding a scrawled order from Negri: _keep the boy away from Piotr until he calms down._

It's dated to the date Petya's mother died, and so when Gregor starts the recording, he'd been ready for just about anything but what it is. The recording starts mid-sentence, which is typical, Gregor knows, of the way Negri used to structure Emperor's-eyes-only classified files.

The old Count Vorkosigan is reporting to Grandfather about training maneuvers. Gregor remembers hazily that Vorkosigan had been in charge of something to do with the infantry at the time. And then Negri enters the room through the guardsman's entrance.

Grandfather acknowledges him with a wave. Negri comes to attention and reports: "Sire, Minister Lord Vorkalloner and Lord Zachary Vorfolse have been found dead by the sword."

The angle is wide enough that Gregor can see the moment that Vorkosigan's face goes deathly frozen. Grandfather doesn't even spare him a glance. "And where is Lord Vorkosigan?"

"He has returned to his apartment, sire," Negri says.

"Keep me informed," Grandfather orders, and Negri nods a salute, his hand already going for his comm.

He stops near the door and listens for a long, horrible moment. He turns back to his Emperor. "Lord Vorkosigan has left his apartment and returned to his ship."

Grandfather nods to him, and Negri gives a more formal salute, glances at Vorkosigan, and leaves.

Grandfather studies the documents in front of him for a full minute, then glances over to Vorkosigan, who is staring sightlessly into the middle distance. "Piotr," he states. It's not a question. It sounds like an invitation, and Vorkosigan seems to take it as some kind of permission. The first time he watches the recording, Gregor smiles at it, not knowing what's to come, reveling a little in the idea that his grandfather had given the Vorkosigans the same permissions that Gregor does, that implied permission to completely ignore protocol, that he and his grandfather had both welcomed that bluntness from the same sources, and probably for the same reasons.

Vorkosigan's voice is hoarse and terrible when he does speak, and it's at a death whisper. "It's what you wanted. Isn't it, Ezar? To show you were serious about dueling. You wanted some young hothead to make an example of. To dispose of. To prove you mean the ban and will enforce it. _This is what you wanted_."

And during his first review of this file, that's where Gregor stops the recording and scurries desperately to find another file, any other file, to confirm that bold assertion, something to give proof to the idea that, yes, Aral Vorkosigan had killed two men in duels. The two men, Negri's notes in Petya's file helpfully point out, who had been sleeping with Petya's mother, to the extent that Minister Vorkalloner had even been suspected of being Petya's father. To address that, Negri had enclosed a genetic scan, performed in ImpMil barely hours after Petya had been born in Hassadar, along with a scrawled note that Piotr had been convinced to let the child live.

Gregor spends a sleepless night when he realizes that Negri hadn't verified that the scan was accurate and not faked by ImpSec on Ezar's order. But there had to have been other documentation that Petya was legitimate. Documentation that didn't originate from ImpMil, documentation that Negri couldn't easily have faked. Gregor looks for it and finds it, but the point strikes home harder than it ever has before, that when the old Vor conservatives bemoan the days when they'd been allowed to kill suspected bastards openly, they were talking about killing babies like Petya. It's always been horrifying enough when they made pointed remarks about muties, and Gregor remembers the way Aral and Cordelia had tried to shelter Miles from it all. But that's anti-mutagenic prejudice. That's _normal_. It's horrible, but it's normal. But Petya? Petya's the perfect one. Petya could have been Emperor if he'd wanted to. Capital gossip's very clear on that, and that's without them knowing that Petya had spent the entire Pretendership in the perfect position to kill the Emperor.

When Gregor starts to watch it again, he begins from the beginning, and wonders just how much Petya himself knows about his birth. If maybe Gregor knows more about it now than Petya does. Petya was mostly raised by his grandfather, so there's no way he'd want to know that his grandfather might have killed him if they hadn't had the technology for a genetic scan, just to be absolutely, overwhelmingly sure that a bastard wouldn't inherit the Countship. Although on the other hand, Gregor remembers with a frown, Petya's been a major force behind the push to get mutants into the diplomatic services. If that's not a public repudiation of his grandfather's actions, Gregor doesn't know what is.

On the vid, Gregor's grandfather looks at Petya's grandfather expressionlessly, considering him. "So you won't ask me to spare his life?"

If anything, Vorkosigan gets even more enraged. "Don't, Ezar. Don't. You'll take my son from me, but don't give me insults. Don't taunt me. You wanted an example. That idiot boy knew that and killed them anyway."

There is silence for a full three minutes on the security recording. Then Grandfather says, "I will not have your son executed as an example. There will be others, I'm sure of it. I'll use them instead to prove to everyone I'm serious. I remember what happened to the last Emperor who killed your son."

Vorkosigan looks murderous. He growls, "I would _never_ \--"

"You might forgive me eventually," Grandfather says. "Xav wouldn't. He would have my head on a pike by nightfall and you know that he could."

Vorkosigan mutters something inaudible. Negri's transcript reads: _Piotr doesn't disagree_.

"But," Grandfather warns, "it will be useless if Aral starts bragging about it. Tell him to keep his head down and shut up about this and don't aggravate the situation, and I can bury it. The Vorfolse idiot has that family history about the Vorkalloners. We can invent some story and I can afford to insult his father by calling young Vorfolse a murderer. If he'd wanted my protection for his children, he was on the wrong side to have earned it."

Whatever Vorkosigan might have said to that is interrupted with Negri bursting in. He looks first to Vorkosigan this time before settling on the Emperor.

"Sire, Lady Vorkosigan has been found dead by plasma burn."

Vorkosigan looks like he wants to bury his face in his hands and never stop. He growls lowly, "aggravating--"

"What a terrible way to commit suicide," Grandfather says without pause.

Negri looks very bland. "Yes, sire. I will inform my men of that."

"But just between us," Grandfather continues, "I want a real investigation. But my eyes only. There's no need for publicity."

"Yes, sire," Negri says.

"The baby, Negri!" Vorkosigan finally explodes. "Where in the blazes is the boy?"

Negri looks to Grandfather and receives a small nod. He mutters into his comm. "With Prince Xav, my lord," he reports.

"Send word," Grandfather orders. "I want the baby to stay with him for the time being." As Vorkosigan opens his mouth again to start shouting, Grandfather cuts through it softly, asking him, "do you have anything set up to care for a baby, Piotr? I'm sure you won't allow anyone your daughter-in-law hired to get near that boy again. This will give you time to prepare."

"I want," Vorkosigan growls, "to see the boy. To make sure that damned useless woman didn't do anything to him."

"You may see him," Grandfather agrees. "And as soon as I can find an excuse, I'll send Aral far away, give him some time to calm down. I don't want scandal, Piotr, especially not Vorkosigan scandal. I can't afford it. But you can have your grandson when you can take care of him and not before. I won't have Xav undermining me over harm coming to his descendants. Speaking of things I can't afford."

Vorkosigan glares at him, but finally nods in assent. "Sire," he gets out through clenched teeth. "If you would be so kind, may I have the names of the Prince's old nurses? I seem to find myself in need of them suddenly."

"Certainly," Grandfather says magnanimously. "Negri, see to--"

The recording cuts off sharply; presumably those secret orders were to remain fully secret. But Gregor can track the chain of events from there. Lady Therese Nathalie Vorrutyer Vorkosigan is buried quickly, rumors pick up about dueling lovers, that Petya was a bastard, that Aral had killed her for it.

Gregor looks for it, but he can't find Negri's report that said who actually killed her. He finds only a short correspondence, decades later, between Aral and Simon: _for Petya's sake, it's always had to be suicide. Death cleans honor._

Gregor reads between the lines and wonders if Aral really had killed her. Grandfather and the old Count had certainly assumed so. But Petya had once told Miles, who'd told Gregor and Ivan in a hushed tone, that his father had sworn to him on his name's word that he hadn't killed her. Now, years later, Gregor realizes that Aral hadn't sworn it was suicide. Petya would have heard that nuance. He'd've had to. And if he hadn't pressed, it'd probably meant he didn't want to know.

From a distance of more than forty years removed from the murder, Gregor assumes the one to actually do it was an armsman. Someone who could've gotten close enough. Someone who could have been given an order by someone with the ability to make Negri's report disappear, maybe even Negri himself. Someone who cared that much about Vorkosigan honor and carried a standard-issue service plasma arc. Someone who would have never said a word.

But Gregor's a Vorbarra, raised by Vorkosigans. He's always been uncomfortably aware that his armsmen are in the perfect position to assassinate him.

He skips through the next few years, still feeling numb. There isn't much of interest there. For Petya's first few years, it's mostly correspondence between Ezar, Xav, and Count Vorkosigan, nothing marked with a high security classification. Gregor frowns a little over some of Xav and Ezar's messages to each other and makes a note to himself to look deeper into all of that. For all that Piotr Vorkosigan had been the one called the kingmaker, with all the threat that implied, it looked like Xav had been the one Ezar really feared could, or even _might_ , depose him.

After Xav dies, Padma Vorpatril's name starts showing up with increasing frequency until, Gregor checks the date against Vorpatril's service record, he is assigned to ship duty.

And then it starts picking up slowly, until it snowballs. Illyan or Negri had helpfully included a list of security warnings and codes and classifications in the file at the beginning of it and Gregor goes back and forth, checking against the index. There are ImpSec codes and Political Education codes and private codes between Negri and Ezar. During the Regency years, there are even a few with a private code between Aral and Simon.

There's a thick five-year block from the Komarran conquest to the Escobaran defeat where Petya's file is full of a complicated set of codes that mean Political Education data that had been integrated into an ImpSec file when the Ministry had been subsumed by ImpSec. There are more in Petya's file than Gregor's ever seen in one place, those markings that this was information that ImpSec hadn't had until after Escobar.

Checkered around them much more sparsely are ImpSec recordings marked with one of Negri's secret codes, one without a written explanation, but it's on nothing that is less than the highest security classification, for the Emperor's eyes only. One of them has been viewed multiple times, a rarity for anything with this level of security on top of it, so Gregor goes to that one first. If it's been viewed that many times, it's probably the worst one, the one with all the secrets, with everything Ezar and Negri had not wanted anyone else to know.

This private code must have meant something extremely serious to Ezar, Gregor realizes, because the record says that not only had Ezar viewed it repeatedly, but that, even more confusingly, the recording had been viewed by the old Count Vorkosigan, but never the Lord Regent. With the level of security warnings on it, Gregor would have assumed it would have been the other way around.

He begins the recording, looking automatically for the included transcript to skim. There isn't one, but there's evidence that Negri had had one there. And then destroyed it. According to the social schedule attached to the file, it's the last event of the Midsummer season, only a few months before Gregor had been born.

Gregor recognizes the room as one of the more private receiving rooms in the public areas of the Residence. Petya, looking shockingly young, is standing with his back towards the main door, looking, to Gregor's practiced eye, like he's about to hit someone. The Vorbarra armsman who clearly just showed him in is exiting through the side door.

Serg is relaxed on a chair, his legs crossed at the ankle. "Hi, cousin," he says.

Petya bows. "Your highness. How may I serve?"

"Sit down, relax," Serg says and points to a chair. Petya, Gregor notes, doesn't do what he does with Gregor when he's angry at him, which is stand over him, glowering at him with either formal phrases or a complete lack of protocol, depending on his mood and the extenuating circumstances. Instead, Petya sits obediently on the edge of the chair, his back perfectly straight and tense. Gregor wonders if the reason Petya so often refuses to sit down is because he can. Because that's a freedom and a choice that Gregor allows him. That's something to think about and Gregor thinks, feeling a little sick, of the few times he had ever tried to order Petya to sit down. Petya likes to be on his feet during Imperial audiences. Gregor had always assumed it was so he could escape easily, like any paranoid High Vor. He'd never considered just what Petya might be trying to escape from, inside his memories. "You been having fun tonight?"

"Yes, your highness," Petya says. "It's a very enjoyable party. The Princess is a wonderful hostess."

"It's such a shame your father had to give his apologies," Serg continues. Petya tenses visibly and Serg grins wolfishly at him. "Lord Piotr."

Petya exhales audibly, but does not relax.

"It's such a stain on your family's honor, don't you agree?" Serg asks. "His life. It's such a scandal. Murdering a subordinate in cold blood."

"The court-martial held it justified," Petya says evenly. "It was a matter of honor and he took vengeance on behalf of our family's honor. He redeemed his word with blood."

"It would have been better to redeem it with death," Serg says. "It worked for one Vorkosigan already. It bought you your inheritance."

"I doubt my mother's death was suicide," Petya says, and oh, this is the Petya that Gregor knows well from when he's really angry. It's almost a comfort to see him, even in spite of the words coming out of Petya's mouth. Not a suicide? Even then, even this young, Petya'd been sure it wasn't suicide? "It would be news to me if it was, but it's such a nice, useful fiction, isn't it, cousin? That so-called suicide. How convenient. How easy. How disgusting. That a murder could be swept away because it's more convenient, because it's easier. My grandfather the Count is correct, ours is such a degenerate, useless generation. We can't even stand as the Vor should and take dangerous risk and stand for our honor. We must take the easy way out of things. Don't you think that's true? Your life has been such a study in it."

Serg waves at him lazily. "Do continue, dear cousin. This is fascinating, the way you're digging your own grave."

"It'll be dug the day you take the throne," Petya retorts. "Don't think I'm an idiot. You tried to bury my father and it didn't work, not entirely, but that's okay, isn't it, Serg? You can wait. You have the time. You almost killed him once, but you won't fail a second time. You're Vor enough for that."

And for all that this scene is clearly nothing more than a farce, some continuation of something else for Serg's amusement, _that_ accusation is obvious. Gregor stares at his father's face in the recording and thinks, inanely, that of all the political maneuvering that his enemies have ever accused him of, at least he's never been accused of killing two hundred civilians and utterly destroying an invasion plan for the sole purpose of ruining a political rival.

And if it were true...

Petya was young and angry and there was no way he had any proof. It could only have been suspicions. It couldn't have been anything more than that. He could have been wrong. He probably was wrong. It was probably an accusation born of nothing more than rage over his father's circumstances and fear of what might happen to him.

And on the recording, Serg isn't denying it at all. But why would he deny it? If Petya thought it were true, then it would only make Serg more dangerous in his eyes, and Serg would have wanted that. The accusation couldn't have hurt Serg at all. If he had become Emperor, if it had been whispered, then he could dismiss it as merely a political attack. Everyone knew, of course, that Aral Vorkosigan had ordered the massacre and killed a man to cover it up. Everyone knew that. There was a reason that Aral Vorkosigan was still, even today in so many places, first and foremost the Butcher of Komarr. Aral had been painted so completely with that brush. For Barrayar's enemies to have been told to consider someone else at fault would have only been seen as an official lie. _They_ knew who was to blame, after all, and it was the man at the scene, the man on the flagship, the man from whose bridge had come the order.

"You should consider and then reconsider your loyalties," Serg is in the middle of saying when Gregor starts to pay attention to his father's words rather than the way his father looks when being accused of a war crime. "That you are loyal to your father even now is admirable, but short-sighted. Your grandfather will not live forever, and I can't let the Vorkosigan seat in Vorhartung Castle go empty. Someone will have to fill it. I don't have any real objection to it being you."

"There are no other legitimate candidates," Petya says, stressing his legitimacy with a smirk. "And you've been short-sighted as well. You keep telling people you have proof that I'm not Aral Vorkosigan's son, not a real Vorkosigan, not a real descendant of Xav. I think I'd prefer the way you tried to get rid of my father's claim. It's cleaner."

"You'd prefer actual ruin to me simply destroying your reputation?" Serg asks, sounding like he's completely faking surprise. "Shocking."

"You haven't destroyed my reputation, you've only fed rumors. But I've been confirmed in the Counts and there _aren't_ any legitimate challengers, or they would have come forward and put forth their claims. These years have given you time to manufacture some evidence of someone else's claim, but you are never going to get back the time you wasted doing it. Any challenger, even if he had your backing, is going to be questioned strenuously over why he waited so long, if there really were an infamous bastard as the Vorkosigan heir."

"Oh, I have time," Serg says. "So much time. And when my son is born, you'll only be one more unfortunate relation. You're convenient now, but that will end abruptly very, very soon. This is the only warning you will ever get. If you stand against me now, you are standing against your Prince. If you stand against me a few months from now, you are standing against two future Emperors. I wonder if I can have you executed twice. It's such a shame that I can't. Oh, well. I'll just have to make sure it lasts very, very long."

"How many of your Counts are you planning to kill, Serg?" Petya asks. "You'll make that clean sweep of the Council, oh, that I know. I think everyone who knows anything about you knows that. You're lucky so few do."

"And now you speak treason," Serg says. "How considerate of you, to actively give me grounds to have you executed."

"The Emperor keeps it all quiet," Petya says, "but we're your relatives. We know you. We know about you. We know you killed Maureen Vorpinski--"

"That's a damn lie!"

"She was pregnant and you had her killed. So what that you didn't do it yourself, although I wouldn't put it past you to have done it. And it doesn't matter how. Her blood is on your hands."

"She was pregnant and not married," Serg says. "Who cares that she died? It was a disgrace to her family's honor, her going around like that. Someone had to set things right. I assumed it was her father. So should you."

"Do you think the Cetagandans will sit by idly?" Petya asks. "Give them chaos and they will return in force. Komarr would bow at the knee and let them through with their compliments. No one would come to our aid, not this time. The Betans want nothing to do with us, nothing at all, after Komarr. They expelled the ambassador over it. If you don't pay attention to this, you're a damn fool as well as a murderer."

"None of which you care about," Serg says. "I know you, little Piotr. You care that your father's honor is in tatters. You care that his career is over. You care that you're always going to be the son and grandson of war criminals. I should send you to the Betans. I'll give your body to them as a gift. Wouldn't that be nice? The grandson of the murderer of Cetagandan bastards. The son of the Butcher of Komarr. I'll send them proof that the Vorkosigan criminal line has ended. I'll give you to them pickled and green and so thoroughly dead that your own mother's ghost wouldn't know you."

"And if you think that would be an appropriate diplomatic gift, your reign will be measured in days," Petya says. "And don't you dare call me a traitor. Not for this, not to you. This is a warning, too, Serg, and it mostly certainly will _not_ be the only one you receive, because everyone around you, everyone who cares about Barrayar, will tell you the same. There's still time for you. You aren't the Emperor yet. There's still time for you to recognize that this isn't the Time of Isolation. Yes, you can get away with having your cronies order a massacre. Yes, you can get away with murdering the mother of your bastard. You cannot, you really cannot, get away with being another Yuri. You can throw me out of a window and it won't change anything. You cannot drag us back into the Time of Isolation, no matter how much you may wish you could."

"My reign will be long," Serg growls, "and you will not live to witness it."

Petya gives him a very deep bow. "Your will, my liege. But not yet."

"Don't play games with me, cousin," Serg says. "Your grandfather can't protect you forever. You only make your death worse."

"But you can only kill me once," Petya returns. "You will only _once_ have the satisfaction of beating me."

A Vorbarra armsman enters the room, a different one from before. He whispers in Serg's ear and Serg looks enraged before covering it with a maniacal little smile. "Remember what I said," he says cheerfully to Petya, bounding out of his chair. "I await your answer."

Gregor waits for the recording to end with Negri's usual abruptness after his father leaves the room, but it continues. Petya stands slowly and from behind him, Ges Vorrutyer says, "your arrogance is going to get you killed."

Petya turns carefully. "Sir," he says, voice back to being so very guarded.

"You don't need to be so formal," Vorrutyer says genially. He ruffles Petya's hair. Petya endures it stoically. "You're not a cadet yet."

"Yes, Uncle Ges," Petya says. "But I'm getting in practice now. I don't want to make a mistake when it matters."

"Have you considered not?" Vorrutyer asks. "Your District needs someone to keep a close eye on it. The Count is so busy with his politics that he's really neglected his own people. Has he even catalogued yet all the guerilla stashes that remain from the war?"

"He has a written order from the Emperor to maintain them against the chance that the Cetagandans return," Petya says. "He knows where all of them are. I don't."

"Mm," Vorrutyer says. "Be that as it may, you should stop trying to needle Serg. Ezar isn't always going to pull him off of you when he discovers he's managed to get you to himself. He'll be your Emperor someday. You don't want him as an enemy."

"No, I don't," Petya says. "But he's convinced that he wants to be my enemy. And I am loyal to the Vorbarra Imperial line in this, as in everything."

"Stop trying sarcasm until you figure out how to do it properly," Vorrutyer advises. "Better yet, stop it entirely. It's unbecoming of your father's son."

"Yes, Uncle Ges," Petya says meekly.

"Ha. But I can't protect you from Serg forever. Whatever games you and Lord Padma are playing with Kareen, stop them."

"We're visiting her," Petya says. "Family can do that, can't we?"

"And don't play these games with me, either," Vorrutyer orders. "There's no minimum age to die for treason. I'm worried about you. Serg thinks you're trying to seduce his wife. He thinks you're trying to cast doubt on his son's legitimacy."

"And I'm sure you have been dissuading him from these convictions," Petya says. "For no other reason than that Serg certainly has seen security recordings of what I do with my preferred companions."

"Yes, he says you completely lack imagination. But you're young yet." Vorrutyer assesses Petya with something like pride. Petya mostly looks like he wants to hide under something and never come out again. "You would have time, if you decided against the Academy. Spend some time in your District, that's my advice. Don't go for a commission."

"Vorkosigans serve," Petya says. "My father became a soldier when he was eleven. If anything, I'm already derelict in my duties."

"Times are changing," Vorrutyer replies. "Serg wasn't permitted a military career. He doesn't see any reason why you should be allowed one. You're an important heir."

"If heirs aren't permitted to serve, the Vor have become _worse_ than my grandfather says," Petya objects. "We can't shelter those in a Countship line. It would be a disaster."

"You listen too much to your grandfather," Vorrutyer says. "Do you need to be reminded that he was a traitor? He can't cast aspersions on anyone else's honor, not with that in his own history."

"And my father is a murderer," Petya says. "But all that means is that he is even better at recognizing it in others."

"Your father would do your District a great service by never living to become the Count. It should skip him entirely, get some new ideas, some new blood. You and Serg are the same generation. You share your generation's views. The two of you could work well together, better than the Emperor and your grandfather do. You should consider the offer."

Petya looks like he's fighting to maintain a blank face. "My oaths are to my Emperor and my Count," he says.

"He's offering to ignore all that history," Vorrutyer says kindly. "And all your insults to him. It's very generous. It's the most generous he'll be. He's offering you your life, Petya. You should take it."

"Every time I have spoken to Serg," Petya says, "he has insulted my honor, called me a bastard, threatened my father... you're right, Uncle Ges, my arrogance is going to get me killed. But I prefer my arrogance and my honor to becoming Serg's obedient puppy. You advise me to take Serg's offer and save my own life, but I would lose my honor, my family's honor, my father's honor, in the process. That's too much of a price for me to pay for my life. It's not worth more than my name."

"Your father used to think that, once," Vorrutyer says. "And then he encountered true betrayal. He changed his mind. Some things are worth more than personal honor."

"As I said, sir," Petya says, "I know that my father is a murderer. But he isn't a traitor. I cannot betray him. I won't."

"And has your father given you any orders about Serg?" Vorrutyer asks dangerously.

Petya succeeds in looking entirely blank this time. "To not antagonize him. It seems my relatives are all in agreement on this issue, sir."

"Then I can't see how your father would have any objection," Vorrutyer says.

"If Serg had his way, my father would have committed suicide and I would be an orphan. He might still have his way while Ezar lives. He will certainly have his way once Ezar is dead." Petya looks Vorrutyer steadily in the eye. "I'm not a person to him, I'm a symbol of my father."

"Keep kicking at him," Vorrutyer warns, "and he'll see you as real. And you won't like it when he does."

"Then let him know that I pray for Ezar's health," Petya says. "It's the answer he both wants and expects. If he really wanted me at his feet, he'd try something other than goading me towards open revolt. Which he damn well won't be getting. I'm not a traitor. And he's playing this as a game with sides. He'd have better luck if he positioned himself as _being_ Ezar's side, not standing against him, not biding his time until his father dies. If Serg weren't a bloody fool, he wouldn't have sabotaged the conquest, because he would have realized that some things were more important than utterly ruining my father. He's nowhere near as ruthlessly practical as he believes himself to be."

"I hope you aren't speaking these doubts to anyone else," Vorrutyer says. "I'm a safe person to talk to, Petya, you know that. But not everyone has your best interests in mind. You need to be careful. You inherited your father's tendency of talking back to your superiors and that's dangerous. You have to stop it. You must learn caution if you're going to stay alive."

"And that means abandoning Kareen," Petya says.

"Well, you won't be allowed around the son anyway," Vorrutyer dismisses, "so it'll become moot once he's born. But for now, yes. And pass the word to Padma, or else Serg will do it for you."

"I'll tell Padma," Petya says. "Would you like me to inform my father of this as well?"

"He has enough things to worry about," Vorrutyer says. "You shouldn't be one of them."

"I try not to be," Petya says. "It's just that I don't always succeed."

"You'll have a lot more practice if you keep antagonizing people you shouldn't. And Minister Grishnov asks me to pass on to you, that if you could desist from trying to undermine the Ministry's surveillance of the preparatory academy, he will very kindly not arrest you and have you brought up on conspiracy charges. As a favor to me. He's not happy with Vorkosigans right now, Petya. Don't push him on this."

Petya, for his part, looks faintly annoyed. "I didn't kill anyone, Uncle Ges. All I did was assume no one wanted to watch me seduce my boyfriend."

"It's what else is going on in your dormitory that concerns us," Vorrutyer says. "No one cares what you and that Vorhalas brat are getting up to in bed, but it's Grishnov's job to make sure that it's only that. Stop turning those damn things off. I hadn't thought they could be turned off, and Grishnov is very interested in how you managed it, believe me. Something else that's bought you your freedom. He thinks you could be valuable in the future."

"Negri said he'd take me for ImpSec if I kept out of trouble," Petya says stubbornly.

"I would be very happy if we had a turf war over you on your merits," Vorrutyer says. "But the way you're going right now, boy, I'm concerned we're going to have one over who gets to execute you for treason. A prospect that I find worrying. If you have any sense, you'll listen to me and not go for a commission. You'll buy Serg's favor with that alone. You could work well together. You could do great things. I can't save you from Serg and Grishnov forever, proud Lord Piotr. I do my best, but if you step over that line, it's your own treason and nothing and no one will be able to save you."

"Nothing will be able to save me anyway," Petya says after too long a moment. "I don't say a word against Serg in public, I _never_ have, and neither has my father nor will he, and yet Serg calls me a traitor for rising to his bait."

"Then stop rising to his bait," Vorrutyer tells him patiently. "He's testing you and you're consistently failing. You're young, you're impulsive, but that excuse isn't going to hold up for much longer."

Petya nods slowly. "You can tell the Minister," he says softly, "that it's a jamming field. I'm not doing anything to Imperial property. There's no sabotage. Is that enough for now?"

"You'll turn the generator over," Vorrutyer says. "Of course."

"Anonymously," Petya presses. "And I won't give up my supplier."

"It'll take Grishnov a matter of days to pull it apart and make sure nothing of its sort will work anymore," Vorrutyer says. "Do you really think your supplier will take well to being put out of business? Give him up and we'll make sure he doesn't go after you for collaboration."

"I gave my word of honor--"

Vorrutyer looks pained. "That damn boy. I'll speak with Pierre. Don't squirm so much, Petya."

"Yes, sir," Petya sighs.

"I hope you're not being free with your name's word," Vorrutyer says.

"Everyone knows what the word of a Vorkosigan is worth," Petya says. From his tone, he's agreeing with Vorrutyer. Gregor knows Petya well enough to know he's doing nothing of the sort.

It seems like Vorrutyer does as well, because he frowns sternly at Petya. "What did I say about being sarcastic?"

"Not in front of you, sir," Petya responds.

"Remember it." Vorrutyer reaches out and brushes something off of Petya's shoulder. Petya doesn't so much as blink until Vorrutyer has removed his hand.

"I will, my lord," Petya says.

Vorrutyer scowls. "I'm on your side, boy. No one else is. Your father is too caught up in his own mistakes. Your grandfather would have happily killed you at birth for your mother's sins. The Emperor? You think he's going to do anything to help the son of a regicide? You're antagonizing Serg and burning your bridges everywhere else. Your rank isn't going to protect you from your superiors. You're wasting your time courting the Princess's favor. There are real powers at court who you should be spending your time on."

"I may not be a serving officer yet, sir," Petya says, "or even an Academy cadet, but I believe the prohibition against playing politics should apply to a serving officer's son as well."

"I'll make something of you yet," Vorrutyer says approvingly. "That was nicely done, Petya. I hardly felt that one go in."

Petya flushes red. "My lord uncle," he starts.

"Humor me, Petya," Vorrutyer says. "What do _you_ think is the Prince's greatest weakness?"

Petya doesn't even need to think about it. "He lacks sufficient imagination," he says.

Vorrutyer considers Petya with a solemn, fond smile. "And you think you don't?"

"I think the worst thing Serg will ever do to me is kill me," Petya replies. "It's a major failure of imagination. His threats are no threats at all because I have no objection to dying to save Vorkosigan honor. My mother did nothing less. And the honor of the Vorrutyers, of course."

"You can't play the suicide card ten minutes after boasting to Serg that your mother was murdered," Vorrutyer says. "Credit your doddering uncle with some wit."

"Yes, my lord," Petya says. "Although some might say, even in my hearing, that conducting herself in public the way she did practically counted as suicide."

"Some may be rude enough to say it where you would overhear," Vorrutyer says. "But that's no excuse to turn around and repeat it yourself."

"I'm better at not overhearing the ones who accuse my father," Petya says. "They whisper when they spoke of him before, and they whisper softer when they speak of him now. Social disgrace is such a strange monster."

"And it's not a monster to be courted," Vorrutyer says. "You'll do yourself a great favor if you refrain from catching the Prince's attention from now on. And if you learned some subtlety. I'm running out of capital to spend on you with the Prince. I really can't protect you forever."

"Perhaps your time could be better spent, then," Petya muses, "on spending your capital among the Prince's advisors. Tell whoever is planting these seeds of doubts in his mind that I am no traitor and I am no threat to the throne. I don't want the damn throne! Tell the Prince's advisors that. They're playing all sides against each other for their own gain. The Prince surely recognizes how dangerous that is. If you're really his closest political ally, the way everyone says you are, you'll tell the Prince to stop listening to his advisors. They're trying to drive him as paranoid as Mad Yuri. If you want to play my protector, Uncle, that's how you can protect me, by cutting it off at the source before Serg's ravings ever reach me."

Vorrutyer nods at him, like he's considering a valid point. "I'll pass on the message," he says, "but I doubt Serg will listen. He does have thoughts of his own, you know. He's not a puppet. He listens to his advisors, but he does not always agree with them. Once he's the Emperor, he will allow no one to be the power behind his throne."

"I'm sure," Petya says sarcastically.

The Vorbarra armsman who'd escorted Petya to the Prince enters the room discretely through the side door. He signals to Vorrutyer and the recording cuts off sharply there.

Negri has a note attached, referencing a few other files. Gregor brings them up. The fourth one is Petya's hostile interrogation. Gregor watches the first few seconds in horrified fascination, not really understanding what he's seeing until Petya starts shaking uncontrollably after the dose starts working, arms wrapped around his naked body for warmth or maybe only comfort, and then Gregor shuts it all down and tries to forget what he'd seen.

He contemplates giving the file back to Illyan. He doesn't.

But he doesn't finish it. Not yet.


End file.
